High Tower Corporation
by Nye Terra
Summary: Novel - The year is 2060 and Terry, Becky, and Win believe that they are the only existing mutants on earth, but they are about to be proven wrong.
1. Introduction

A great campaign, decades ago, changed the world and whether or not it was for the better or worse depended on who you were, where you lived, and how lucky you were. When mutants surfaced and became known to the global public, humans were afraid, and that made them angry. We only have one life to live and if we're forcing to live in fear, well, no one has that kind of time or energy.

Some people were scared, others saw opportunity through their greed. Extensive and secretive research was done, mostly on unwilling mutants. Unfortunately, their disappearance went unnoticed. Mutants were largely unloved, most people were relieved when one went missing from a neighbourhood.

A number of years after mutants were the center of attention and rebellion groups tried to advocate for equal rights or even domination, failing time and again, the government cleared out all of the mutants. No one knew how, but it was suspected that mutants could be weakened or killed by certain diseases that wouldn't affect people. Gossip pointed to a sabotaged drinking system, a gas bomb dropped in the dead of night, or simply an overnight series of arrests that rounded up mutants as efficiently as Santa Claus hands out gifts on Christmas Eve.

Despite the fact that mutants were becoming a myth in a matter of hours, and relieving the fears of humans everywhere, conspiracy theorists preached the unnerving truth that the government could commit mass genocide right under the noses of the general public. The government called it the Cleansing Campaign, but they did not stop with the elimination of all traceable mutants in the country. They took it a step further. They tested all humans' DNA to find out who still carried the mutant gene. Those who had traces were left with two choices: Surgically remove reproductive organs, or... well, whoever made the second choice was never seen again. The public became frightened, saying their rights were impeded.

What horrified most people was that the majority of the countries followed suit. There were countries that stood as safe haven's for mutants, but one by one they were overpowered, and mutants fled or were captured. The mutants made a final stand in the Alps of Europe, their plight was unsuccessful, but a handful of them managed to escape and have not been heard from for over forty years.

During the Cleansing Campaign, the High Tower Corporation appeared, an unsuspecting, plain building. It was not something that the public had access too, unless of course they had the money to buy its attention. It was a company that saw value in mutants, but knew better than to let them roam free, there had been proof of artificial mutation in some of the subjects that had been rounded up during the Cleansing Campaign, they harnessed the science and exploited it.

Humans who showed signs of mutative DNA were damned and shunned, openly harassed and abused in public. Those who chose the first option more than often locked themselves away in their homes, or worse, committed suicide. It quickly reached the point where the second option became the only option. Hundreds of people simply disappeared, and no one knew exactly where they went or what happened to them. It's safe to say that many people didn't care.

Society quickly became survival of the fittest, and the richest. Everyone who didn't disappear fought against all. Friends and loved ones were forsaken for family, and families fought against other families, accusing one or the other of being a mutant. Some people had paid off the scientists to give false DNA results, to damn their enemies and protect their own. It's safe to say that now there's no way to know for sure who carries mutant genes and who doesn't. Little did they know that the people they feared and hated ended up in that simple skyscraper building in the center of New York City.

Once High Tower got hold of someone, they were dead to the world. Most of the time they truly ended up dead. But not everyone the High Tower took in died, some of them surpassed all limitations, and became the species that began the Cleansing Campaign. They cast their mutative ancestor into shadow, for they were the most formidable weapons that the government had ever created.

Three of the subjects live, and their numbers are slowly growing. Subject 0543220; Poltergeist. Subject 0311510; Mountain. Subject 0134140; Wild Witch. This is their story.


	2. Chapter 1 The Briefing

The surveillance camera's red light blinked dully in the corner of the room, it was nothing more than a black bubble in the ceiling. At least, that's what Becky told herself. She was sat in the middle of her perfectly square room, immersing her attention in a deck of cards. Not any ordinary deck of cards, but one that could read into the soul of who ever picked one up. She had strewn the deck, face down, across the floor before her, and with her little hands, she shuffled them around before picking one up and staring at it long and hard. It was a II of Pentacles. She leaned over to the book at her side, left open at the last card she had picked up. Excitedly, she cast her hand over the book as if she were waving at the pages. A light breeze lifted the pages one by one, tinkling the chimes that hung from the ceiling around her room, and died down when the symbol that matched her card appeared.

She studied the description, traced her fingers over the words, her fingernails were painted a lavender purple. Just another colour that she wanted to try. She had offered to lend it to Win, but she only stared, saying nothing before she stalked away to study her own books.

Becky didn't _need_ to study tarot cards, not like how Win needed to study animal anatomy's and black magic, chemistry, biology and physics. Win couldn't function without her knowledge of these things, but Becky would argue that she wouldn't be able to function without her "phases". They all frowned upon Becky for studying tarot cards, but when Win picked up a book on voodoo the doctors gave their ooo's and ahh's and nodded approvingly.

Becky didn't care. It honestly didn't bother her. Whenever she says she doesn't care, it isn't in a passive aggressive way, like Terry. He would say "You honestly think I care? I don't give a shit." Becky knew he did. He wanted the boss, his father, Mr. Heidrich to love him.

"I'm sure he loves you, Terry," Becky would tell him.

"You don't know what you're talking about." And he would walk away.

She sat up straighter, murmuring what she thought the card might mean for her, "Out with the old, in with the new. Look out for alternative business opportunities. Build up team work skills." She frowned, her perky nose wrinkling with disapproval. She looked around her room, covered in posters, star charts, maps, male models in low cut jeans, a few pictures of cats and a cat chart to go with it. She had studied once the different breeds, and it had been the only thing that Win had asked to borrow for a while. She wanted to share things with Win, to be the sister she never had, but Win was more interested in books and studying than with people. Curtains and scarves hung from the ceilings, and there were at least six different wind chimes. In the corner stood her tall bookshelf filled with 'How To's', at least a dozen beginner books for cooking, exercise, painting, writing, gardening, origami, decoupage, carpentry. The only thing that was going through her mind was 'out with the old, in with the new'.

But she loved her room and everything that went into it. It was a collection of her phases, it was where she came to relax, to escape. She had nearly covered the white walls completely, you couldn't even notice that there were no windows. She wanted to bring her own lamps in, but Heidrich was adamant that the incandescent lights would interfere with the cameras.

She gathered up her cards, one by one, thinking that it would be a good idea to look into how cameras, videos, and films worked. All the old films from the 1930s to the 1950s! She drew in a deep breath and rushed to the small journal on her night table. She scribbled into it, _ancient films - black and white_.

Dropping the pen and journal onto her untidy bed, she returned to picking up the cards. She wanted to do a reading for Terry and Win before she moved onto greater things. Maybe, she thought, the card means out with the old people, and in with the new?

It was possible. So she took the cards in her hand, and bounded excitedly from the room. She had barely taken three steps down the hall when the PA system chimed in with its annoying three notes. She stopped and looked up at the nearest speaker, pouted at the camera bubble on the ceiling directly beside it, and turned on her heel to go toward the head office where Heidrich's secretary was making her announcement.

"Attention all subjects." She said like a sweet robot, she feigned cheer, but the message was as overdone as a news story about a cat stuck in a tree. "Attention _all_ subjects. Report to the head office for briefing. Briefing in the head office, all subjects, please report to the head office."

Becky couldn't help but think that the secretary, Mrs. Gontard, loved to hear the sound of her own monotonous voice. When it was time to announce, she couldn't put the microphone down, rephrasing the same sentence so many times to the point where it made absolutely no sense. Either way, the 'subjects' know where to go whenever they hear the three note chime. "Report to the head office for briefing, subjects, all subjects."

As Becky passed Win's door, just beside her own, it opened and Win stepped out, her long black hair tied at the base of her skull, her violet oval-frame glasses perched low on the bridge of her long narrow nose. Her thin dark eyes narrowed at the nearest speaker. "Subjects. Attention. Report -" Win snapped her fingers and the speaker spit out orange and red angry sparks before it fell silent.

The rest of the speakers followed suit. The entire broadcast ended abruptly with a dull chime of the same three notes it started with, only reversed.

"I will rip that woman's tongue out one day." Win vowed.

Becky held out the tarot deck to Win, "Shall we see what the cards have to say about that?"

Win blinked at her, then stalked down the hall. "I don't need cards to tell me what I will or will not do."

"It's not about the future." Becky explained. When Win didn't ask for further explanation, she followed her down the hall and gave it anyway, "The cards tell you where you are in your life right now, in this moment, it tells you what you can change to better your life. Just a little advice really." Win said nothing. "Just a little friendly advice." She said the last three words innocently.

Win glanced over at her, and said with a hint of apology in her tone, "Thank you, Becky, but I don't need any advice."

"Wait up!" Terry's voice echoed from the end of the hall. He wore his tank top and shorts, white socks and black sneakers. His red tank top was soaked mahogany at the front, and the girls knew he had been to the gym.

Becky indulged her phases, Win her brain, and Terry his muscle.

He brushed between them, stepping toward the door and looking back at them, "It's gonna be a good one, I can tell."

"What makes you say that?" Becky asked.

"We've been stuck here for years," Terry explained.

"I've been here for four months." Win put in.

"Exactly! We're definitely moving up by now, we've stopped _how_ many thieves, and destroyed _how_ many crime organizations? It's time for a change." He turned and approached the door, it slid open with a hiss, and he didn't pause once in his stride.

Win followed, unimpressed. Becky came after, almost meekly.

The room was long and narrow, stretching the width of the building, and lined with L shaped desks, all filled with busy book keepers and... well none of the subjects knew what most of these people did. Terry insisted that they were secret agents, scouting out new targets for them to round up. Becky wasn't so sure. The secret agents she knew were tall, imposing, and looked like they could break a man in two with their bare hands. These people were little, skinny, mousy-looking, as if they'd spent their lives indoors.

Before them stood a wide door, made of polish red wood and brass handles. That was Heidrich's office. In a platformed desk, towering above all the lesser desks, and the lesser subjects. Behind it stood Mrs. Gontard, a woman with a sweet look on her face, as though she desperately wanted to be your friend. Her eyes went round and she leaned over the desk to get a look at Win. Her round, dark eyes watered behind the rectangular lens, and she said, "You're quite the wild one, aren't you? They chose your name wisely - The Wild Witch! Why did you try to destroy the speakers, girl?"

Win's thin eyes narrowed dangerously, "Do not condescend me."

"Condescend you?" She squeaked, mocking, "No, of course not. But this has happened before, and I've told you not to do it. Yet, you do it again!"

"Can we just go through to see me father, Mrs. Gontard?" Terry asked.

Gontard ignored him, in her squeaky voice, she asked Win again. "Why would you do something I explicitly told you not to do?"

"The same reason that you repeat that same sentence over and over." Win explained, she leaned close to the desk, her nose just inches from the top. She peered above the lens of her oval frames, her dark eyes flashing dangerously one more time. "I'm trying to get a message through."

The secretary's eyes went rounder than ever before, and then her brows snapped down like a drawbridge, "You little skank." She hissed so lowly that no one else could hear. "Sold your body to a cause and now you mean to bite the hand that feeds you."

Terry's arms flexed indignantly, "What did you just call her?"

Gontard sat back in her seat and pressed the button to unlock the door. Becky rushed past Terry to open it, hoping they would follow. A thought occurred to her, and she went back to the desk and said, "Would you like a card, Mrs. Gontard?" It rhymed, that seemed to please Gontard as well.

"Oh sweetling, you are my favourite subject, you know that?"

"Oh, is she?" Win asked in disbelief as Gontard drew a card from the deck. "What's her name?"

Gontard chortled at that, "What do you take me for, Witch? I know all there is to know about all of you. She is Rebecca Fairchild, daughter to -"

"Please, what does the card say?" Becky asked.

She looked down at it, wrinkled her face in confusion and handed it back to her, "I have no need for silly games right now, child. Go on through, now. Mr. Heidrich is waiting on all three of you."

Becky took back the card, and had the grace not to see what it was in the woman's presence. Terry led them through the door, and they found themselves in a small room. Tall green plants stood in every corner, with polished red wood doors, one for the north, east, and south walls. Between each door hung gilded mirrors, throwing reflections into reflections across the room and farther away, as though the glass was layered into different dimensions. Becky felt almost overwhelmed in this room. The room was a lie. The room was pretending to be more than it really was. Even the floor had gilded thread sewn amongst the tawny carpet. It was just a doorway, nothing more than a means to an end. The plants were fake, there were no windows here.

Becky remembered when she tried to make a small garden in her room, and how the poor gorgeous creatures wilted away and died no matter how often she watered them. Her book "Gardening for Dummies" explained why her pretty little babies had to die. No sun. It made her wonder how they had survived all this time in the High Tower. Forever in darkness.

Terry remained unfazed by the room, he strode straight across to the east door and threw it open. He reached the middle of the room and dropped to one knee. Win and Becky bowed politely behind him. Terry was on his feet, and realized to his embarrassment that his father's chair was turned to face the eastern window.

"Zhere iz an issue witz ze museum." Heidrich said simply. He stood to reveal a shock of blond hair, when he turned his face was hard, so sharply featured and crooked and fierce, that Becky always wondered if his face was one expression away from falling apart. "A family has taken it upon zhemselves to relieve ze museum of itz treasures."

"I've heard of no robbery, father." Terry said, a very faint german accent slipping in. The two could speak the language but if they did, Win and Becky would be lost.

"No. Zhat iz because zhey have replaced ze artifacts witz counterfeits. We have found zheir location. Zey reside at ze west end of ze city. Go in, take ze artifacts back unharmed. Leave ze offenders to me."

"Father!" Terry protested.

"Nine!" Heidrich snapped. "Leave zem." He finished darkly.

"Father, when will we finally do something worthwhile, huh?" Terry demanded.

"Worzhwhile?" Heidrich said, pacing around his solid desk to stand between it and Terry, "You wish for adventure, and glory, but you also wish for domination."

Terry turned his chin down and to the side, a quizzical look on his face.

"Yes, you heard me. You zhink you can run ze show, do you?"

His son, who looked nothing like him at all, bowed his head, knowing full well that he had gone too far. To Becky, it was hardly far at all. It was childish impatience, nothing more. Terry was a boy of sixteen, could he honestly expect him to play lackey without question?

"I'm sorry, father, I only meant that -"

"I know." Heidrich said. "Now, leave."

Not even a reassuring pat on the shoulder, or a tussle of his hair. Win turned first, Terry was the last, and he looked as though his whole world had gone crashing down. His shoulders stooped, his eyes were downcast, Becky had seen him this way often enough. It only ever happened after every single briefing. I suppose you could say a briefing and de-briefing was family time for the Heidrich's. Becky couldn't understand it, but then again, she didn't understand her own family either.

"Terry," Becky said when they passed through the narrow office, in complete silence.

"What?" He asked sulkily, turning to look at her.

Becky couldn't think of anything to say, except to offer a card. She looked to Win who understood instantly, "I've been studying dogs recently, you said you had one when you were younger."

Terry blinked, "A terrier, yeah."

Win smiled and stepped back. Instantly, her clothes emptied, the girl who had held them up and given them life disappeared. From the bundle of clothes, a little Russell terrier leapt out, barking happily. This was why Win studied animals. She had said to Becky that if she understood how the animal's body functioned, how they thought, how they moved, and even what they ate, she could morph into one more easily.

Becky smiled as Terry's face lit up with joy. He picked up the little dog and held it tight, then seemed to remember that it wasn't a dog at all. He set Win down, chuckled apologetically and when he looked at Becky, his copper skin flushed. "Uh, meet back here in five minutes." He strode down the hall and disappeared into his room.

Becky scooped up Win's clothes, and the dog trotted toward her room. When the door opened for them, Win morphed back to her old self, took her clothes and slinked into the darkness of her room. Becky had looked away, it was only polite, and now wandered back to her own safe haven. The only place where she was happy in this entire building. The closest thing she had to home, or the feeling of home, was this room, and her neighbours.

She first took out the card that Gontard had drawn from the deck. She had been careful to place it on the top of the deck. When the secretary threw the card away, Becky thought it had been Death, commonly known to be a sign of ill-omen, but not truly, not completely. The card had been the X of Wands, the picture was a man carrying five sticks laboriously and inefficiently. It was a sign of futility, and Becky smiled. It was the perfect card for the secretary, and she knew that the sweet little robot would never heed her advice. Labor away, Mrs. Gontard, Becky thought.

She dressed for work, clad in black. She tied back the tight curls of her blonde hair, and pulled on her half-gloves made of soft pleather. On went her boots that fit so snuggly that she could walk without making a sound. She pulled on her black long sleeved turtle-necked shirt and on her belt she tucked away a switch-blade.

In her back pocket, she tucked away the tarot cards.


	3. Chapter 2 What Makes A Mutant Tick

The wind pinched their faces and glossed over their eyes. The three shadows crouched side by side and studied the building that stood across the well lit field filled in with black asphalt. The night sky twinkled blankly high above, unable to give the shadows the stealth that they so desperately needed. Terry, the largest of them turned to the others, ducking behind the three foot high cement wall that was topped with an eight foot high chain link fence and a twirling barbed wire. His copper skin glowed. The lights beyond the wall were so bright, and narrowly spaced that even here, clad in black, they could plainly see one another.

He nodded to the shadow farthest from him, Win, the youngest of them. She was barely twelve years of age with narrow dark eyes, a flat thin face, and thin pointed nose. Without a word, she crouched and carefully skirted the edge of the territory. The last shadow, Becky, a fifteen year old girl with round blue eyes and blonde hair that fell from her hair-tie in tight curls, watched the guards at the far edge of the lot to make sure that none of them noticed Win's movement. She promptly turned and sat beside the copper skinned boy, who was sixteen years old and trying to grow in a mustache and beard with sparse brown hair. "You ready?" He asked her.

She reached into her back pocket and produced a stack of cards. "Take one and we'll see."

His face screwed up with annoyance, he hissed at her, "We don't have time for your stupid games!"

"It isn't a game!" She insisted, "It's proven true dozens of times for me."

"A dozen times out of a hundred."

"I'll pick one for you." She said, raising her perked nose at him and taking the card from the middle of the pile with ease. "A chariot!" She whispered excitedly, "That a good sign."

Before she had even looked at the card, he was crouched low and skirting the walls the opposite way their companion had gone. She tucked the cards away, pleased with the result regardless of what he thought of it. The lot turned in toward the building gradually, and they came closer and closer to the patrolling guards with every step.

When the distance between the wall and the building was roughly fifteen feet, they stopped and waited. It didn't take long for their friend to make her move. One by one the light fixtures throughout the lot exploded in sparks of amber, orange, and red, being carried away in streams by the wind. Slowly, the night crept in to the lot, playing its part in their mission like a loyal friend, and made the fading sparks seem like the final sputtering of fireworks.

The boy didn't hesitate once the lot was in complete darkness. Flashlights appeared in the hands of every guard, but they were twirling around trying to find something worth looking at. He stood holding a hand out and concentrating. The earth rumbled like the belly of a hungry giant and the flashlights continued to wave and twirl as the asphalt beneath their feet shifted, bent, and broke with great booms like claps of thunder.

The girl stood as well and back handed the air before her, casting a ferocious wind that threw the guards across the lot and into the building. "I bet Win is already inside." She said. The boy held his arms out in front of him and parted them in a straight horizontal line, the fence screeched, the barbed wire snapped with a note like a guitar string breaking, and the cement base crumbled away and parted. They raced through the opening and crossed the dark lot, the flashlights that had fallen out of the hands of guards were strewn randomly, crossing one another or pointing out to the distance. Their shadows were no more than flits of impossibly long legs that were gone almost the instant that they appeared. They made it to the entrance and the boy hovered his hand over the body of a dazed guard, and from his belt the access key flew into his hand with a single thought. He went to swipe it across the pad but the door opened before he could think of what to do.

The girl leapt back and assumed a stance, ready for the swarm of back-up to pour through with guns and tazers. But the only thing that stood in the entrance was their friend Win.

"You've outdone yourself this time." The boy smiled with relief.

"I knew it." The blonde said with a grin.

"You don't look like you expected me." Win said, studying her stance and smiling wryly, "Let's go."

They raced down the wide hallway, finding unconscious guards left and right until they came to the elevator shaft near the center of the building. The door was steel, as wide as the hallway itself and secured by a number pad lock and a DNA lock. Win promptly knelt before the access system, placing her fingers strategically and sending small bluish purple bolts of energy into the machine. The display screen flashed the words 'Enter Pin', but with each touch the words stretched or disappeared to reveal a flurry of numbers.

"Make sure no one comes up behind, Becky." Win said.

"Since when did you start calling the shots here?" The boy demanded as the blonde went to the nearest intersection of hallways and took her tarot deck from her back pocket again.

Win paused in her work and looked up at him, he was nearly six feet tall, and she was barely five. Kneeling didn't help her cause for dominant height but her stare was icy and emotionless, "If it makes you feel better, Terry, you tell her to keep watch."

"You've taken the fun out of it." He pouted, watching as she went back to work.

"Page of Wands!" Becky called down the hall, "It's reversed. We have to be careful not to overlook anything, guys!"

Terry turned and hushed her loudly.

"Tarot card phase." Win said.

"I don't even know where she got the stupid deck." Terry muttered.

"Palm reading isn't far off," She replied as the screen flashed the words 'access granted'. "I'll bet that's where she'll end up next."

"Am I the only one without a gambling problem?" He asked.

Win didn't seem to hear him, she had moved onto the DNA lock. She placed both hands flat on the device and the shock she sent through it threw the elevator doors wide open to reveal a pitch black tunnel descending countless floors below and three floors above.

They stood at the entrance while Becky raced over, checking over her shoulders just to be sure no one followed. "What are you waiting for?" She asked them, "It should be down from here."

"Terry wants to call the shots." Win said.

"How very passive aggressive of you." He sneered before leaping into the blackness.

He hovered there and beckoned the others to follow, they stepped out into nothingness and hovered beside him. The elevator doors slammed shut behind them.

"Was that supposed to happen?" Becky asked.

"No." Win said. A red glow filled the shaft, but it did not come from any ordinary light, they were swirling lasers, criss-crossing so that they were impossible to dodge, rising from the bottom and descending from the top.

"Go down!" Becky shouted at Terry, panic gripped her so tightly that her features began to fade away.

"Don't go invisible." Terry urged her, "I need to know where the two of you are!"

"I can stop the one below. Let me go, Terry." Win said.

And just like that she was falling, turning into a little black speck among the swirling redness. Terry raised a hand to the lasers above and furrowed his brow in concentration. The walls of the shaft around them crumpled with the sound of metal screeching against metal, and they descended just below that point. When the lasers reached the damaged metal, they sputtered like a candle in the wind and disappeared. They felt a rush of warm air caress their faces and brushed past them.

"That was close." Becky breathed as Terry gently lowered them to where they might find Win.

The lasers below them had likewise disappeared, but in the darkness there was no sign of their friend, at least to Terry.

"She's morphed into a fly," Becky said, a distant look in her eye, "She's several floors below us, patient as ever."

"Do you sense the target nearby?" Terry asked. He could hear the buzz of Win's wings echoing and watched as from seemingly nowhere, the girl appeared, and fell a few feet before he levitated her to join them.

"I do." Becky replied, "It isn't where Heidrich said it would be."

"A different vault?" Win asked.

"No..." Becky said, her expression hardened, and she looked between her friends, "It's out in the open. We could just go in and take it."

"Are you sure?" Terry asked skeptically.

"I am."

"It's obviously a trap." Win said, "Those lasers are proof enough of that."

"They couldn't have expected us." Terry said.

"No, but someone could easily have alerted the boss before we cleared out the main level. We didn't take the upper floors either." Win said.

"They were empty, I didn't sense any humans above the main floor." Becky insisted.

"Then you didn't stop the patrols quickly enough." Win snapped.

"Shut up, both of you!" Terry nearly shouted, "We can still do this. Becky, poltergeist, and take care of any guards you see."

She nodded and asked, "What will you do?"

"Wait for your call." Terry replied.

Becky nodded anxiety and determination furrowed her brow, and slowly she disappeared until it was as if she had never been. Terry motioned toward her, as if pushing at the air, and Becky drifted through the closed steel doors, she shivered as a chill ran through her like running through a cool waterfall. She found herself in a brightly lit hallway. The lights shone blue and cast everything it touched into a white glow, but Becky was Poltergeist now, she had no shadow. Light, air, and any weapons would pass through her with nothing more than a chill.

The cold crept into Becky's bones. She hated being Poltergeist, the name that her creators had given her. The only people who called her Becky were Win and Terry. But she couldn't afford distractions now. She could sense the presence of men, very near. She heard a voice, angry and muffled, "Stop them!"

Treading only on her toes, she moved down the hall until she came to a cross where a half stair descending to her left and ascended to her right. The descending stairs led to a wide and long hall that seemed much darker than where she stood now. She could sense people down there, but she heard the voice. "Where are they now? Does anyone know?"

It was coming from the upper floor, she went up, her feet carrying her in silence. She truly was a ghost, because the four men at the far end of the rectangular room never noticed her. One man stood with his back to the target, a simple object perched upon a skinny and tall display table. It was the legitimate art piece of some Roman God, traded for a counterfeit in the museum. It was carved of gray marble, a creepy head with blank eyes, a square nose and curling hair.

Becky was captivated for a long while. She wondered if she could carve something like that. Maybe the cards could let her know what she should do. She drew the deck from her back pocket, and drew a card from the center of the pile. The deck was translucent, and so were the pictures on the card. She sighed in annoyance and the man at the far end of the room looked up, the three men standing before him turned to look.

Becky dropped the card, and as soon as it left her grasp, it became clear as day. The picture revealed Death. She darted out of the way as each of the four men drew their guns and fired at open space. But she was untouchable, she didn't need to dodge, it was a force of habit. She felt several bullets whiz through her chest and her thigh like a cut of ice. The pain made her stumble, but she knew that she was unharmed. Still she hated pain.

She threw her invisible hands at the enemies and a gust of wind gathered and slammed them against the wall. The sound was just like a gunshot, or maybe that was the sound of gunfire from the people coming from the lower hall.

"Who's there?" The lonely man shouted, snatching the carved head from the table and hugging it close to his chest.

"The Death card could mean one of two things," Becky said, her voice but a hoarse whisper. The back-up storming up the stairs went flying back in a torrent of wind from a single gesture. "It means that you've fallen into a poor routine - stealing."

"Who are you? Come out and fight!" He shouted.

"It means you have to get rid of some bad habits." She said the last two words decisively. Her own voice gave her chills. "Likewise, it could mean that you will meet some formidable obstacles, that you could use a little 'healthy escapism' - I'm sure prison will do."

"Please," He begged, backing up against the wall. "Leave me alone!" The chill crept from her bones, like that flush you feel when circulation returns to your hands and feet after a while. He invisibility and intangibility were pretty much the same idea as that, the longer she stayed as Poltergeist, the more painful it was to return to normal. She watched his expression change as he could finally see her. "A kid! A little bitch! Who the fuck do you think you are - scaring me! Me? Do you know who I am?" He drew a gun from his back pocket, his eyes wild with fear and rage.

He fired once, twice, thrice, on and on until his bullets were spent. Becky felt the sting of ice against her skin, in her bones, creeping through her veins briefly before tingling and fading away.

"I wish you hadn't done that." She said. She thrust her hand at him and and gust of wind pinned him to the corner of the room. His face stretched and flapped comically while she approached with calm steps and took the sculptured head that was pinned to his chest.

The wind stopped and the man collapsed on the ground, gasping from breath. Without another word she turned and walked out the way she had come with the sculpture under her arm. She paused beside the tarot card of Death. Somehow she had lost her hold on all the cards and the deck was scattered through the room. She didn't have time to pick them all up. If she was telekinetic like Terry, it would be a piece of cake. But moving the wind to pick up cards would take time that she did not have. There were other humans throughout the building and they would be upon her soon.

Death grinned up at her, warning her to be careful with a blank skeletal face. She raced down the stairs and toward the elevator. She leapt through the solid steel and fell several feet before Terry caught her with his telekinesis. The three ascended, past the twisted metal walls of the shaft to the main floor. Terry didn't have the patience to wait for Win to hack into the lock system again, so with a single push of his hand, the steel screeched and gave way in a grotesque curl.

Once they were on solid ground they broke into a run. "What the hell happened, Becky? I sent you in to be stealthy, not hot-headed."

"I still have the statue, don't I?" She retorted.

"I could have gotten it the same way." He said.

"Then why didn't you?"

"I figured I'd better make you do somethingbecause you were pretty useless up until then." He snapped.

She scoffed and stopped dead in her tracks, "What did you just say to me?"

"Check your cards, see what your next move should be, or maybe try your vegan baking books, or your alien conspiracies, or your medieval mysteries -"

"Stop it," Win punched his shoulder, "What's wrong with you? We succeeded. Sure it was messy but it's done, and that's all that matters."

"No, it isn't." Terry snapped. "Heidrich will be pissed if she botched it up. But I'll be the one getting the heat for it, not her!"

"She didn't 'botch' the mission," Win assured firmly, "Come on, Becky."

Becky followed, but her mood had turned sour. First Win had turned on her, and now Terry was shouting at her. Both for different reasons, and that meant that it was impossible to please them both. Win cared about the end result, perfection came naturally to her. Terry fought for perfection despite the fact that everything he was assigned to do was guaranteed to be completed. He wanted to please his father, to make him proud, but Becky was confident that Heidrich didn't give a rat's ass. What Win wanted was a mystery, but Becky knew what made her tick. Failure.

They raced out of the building, through the opening in the fence that Terry had made and down the dark streets to the rendez-vous point. It was nothing more than an abandoned sewing shop. At the back, several black vans waited for them, and without a word, they piled into one and sped off back to headquarters. Back to High Tower.


	4. Chapter 3 If Only

**This is my fourth instalment of the story. I've been trying to improve my character development in general for all my works, on and off of fanfic. Let me know what I can do to improve, thanks. Enjoy :)**

The team reached the High Tower at quarter past one. The inside of the van was especially dark and silent, like a moving tomb. Becky couldn't even properly see the faces of any of the agents, she had no idea how many there were either, at least by sight alone. She would have used her telepathic abilities then and there, but her fight with Terry made her sad and angry, and the scientists had often told her to avoid using her powers when she was experiencing any negative emotion.

The van pulled into the underground garage, descending and turning sharp corners with tires screeching a echoing off the walls like bats screaming in a cave. The yellow lights that filled the cave barely penetrated the tinted windows of the van, just providing an outline of the men's hulk silhouettes, and then Win, tiny and still in the corner beside her. Finally the van came to a stop, the other two vans whirling into lots at either side.

Car doors opened and slammed shut, they didn't sound like gun shots, but they were loud and sudden, and still reminded Becky of them. She jumped and felt chills run through her. The van's side door slid open and the back doors yawned open to reveal several agents, clad in black just as the mutants were. Unceremoniously, without gratitude or acknowledgement of any kind, the agents snatched the statue head from Becky. Win climbed out of the van and waited for Becky and Terry to follow.

"Status." One agent asked his black microphone pinned to his collar. The ear piece on his left ear made a faint scratching noise, of a voice replying to him. "Prepare for the Collective Squad. Get these three out of here."

Two agents stood between the three mutants and held their arms out, shuffling them toward the elevator at the center of the underground parking. None of them said a word. In complete silence, the elevator lifted them up to the top floor of the tower.

"How many do you think they'll get this time?" Terry asked.

Becky didn't want to say anything, she was still angry with him.

Win glanced at Becky, then looked to Terry and shrugged.

"Are you two mad at me?" He demanded.

"No," Win said shortly.

"Yes." Becky huffed, crossing her arms.

Terry turned his attention to Becky, "Look, I was just... I panicked a little, alright?"

"You think I'm useless." Her voice ascended in pitch and her face crumpled into tears and wails.

"No! Becky, you did a lot today!" Terry protested, patting her shoulder awkwardly.

She shrugged him off and buried her face in her hands, "You _hate_ me!" The elevator began to shake and the two agents standing in the corners of the elevator exchanged glances.

"No! No, Becky, I could never hate you, _never_!" Terry promised.

The agent pushed the button to the next floor up, only the 4th, and the elevator came to a stop. The doors opened shakily and a tornado tore through the tiny box, knocking everyone aside while Becky stepped out of the elevator, unhindered, with her face still in her hands.

She turned to the door, taking a deep breath, forcing the wind to be calm. One of the two agents tried to step out with her, but a gust of wind smacked him against the back wall. The doors were closing, and the second agent tried to stop the door with his hand, but it went straight through the metal, and the doors closed. Becky watched as the little row of buttons, one for each floor, flashed from 4 to 5, and up slowly but surely to the top level, 142.

Becky stood, the entire time, waiting for the elevator to reach the top. All the while, she fought for control, random bursts of wind shook potted plants and rattled mirrors, knocked over tables and throttled doors. And her skin, she could feel it pulling, and tingling, random splotches of herself going Poltergeist and begging her to disappear.

She didn't want to be a ghost. Poltergeist meant that she was dead, that she had died a terrible death and was coming back to haunt people. Essentially, she was a monster. And she couldn't even control it. That thought made her want to scream and the wind did it for her, wailing wind screeched through the hallways, sad and forlorn.

The elevator lights blinked downward, from 142 back to 4, blink blink blink blink. Someone was coming to stop her, to calm her down with a sedative. "I can do it." She breathed, flicking her hands before her as if she were getting ready to do an athletic feat. "Go away. Make them go away. Be normal for once - fuck - be _normal_!" That didn't help much. Trying to force back her powers was like forcing a pillow into a shoebox, it couldn't fit, it wouldn't fit. Maybe it shouldn't fit, part of her thought. I could leave, she thought. It would be so easy, they wouldn't be able to catch me. But would being alone make me normal?

The lights were still blinking, they were somewhere around 90, she couldn't be sure because tears were stinging her eyes and blurring her vision. In defeat, she sat in front of the elevator doors, legs crossed, elbows propped on her knees and her head in her hands.

What felt like an eternity passed before a 'ding' sounded and the doors opened. There stood the two agents, guns poised, ready for fire, and behind them poured out several scientists who she knew by name. She made to stand but a familiar pinch told her that she should have stayed still.

"Poltergeist." One of the scientists said, "Stay calm."

She looked down at her arm, seeing the tiniest little dart with blue and red feathers protruding from its end. The thing was no bigger than a push-pin, rounded, and the feather stuck on its end were bent and squished. Knowing what came next, she simply laid down, staring at the ceiling until darkness swept over her like a wave, pulling her down, down, down. She didn't even hear the scientists as they spoke, trying to soothe her, but their words were empty.

Becky woke up, she couldn't guess what time it was, but she was thankful that she was in her own room. Too many times, she had woken up in the white blinding room of the hospital that took up several of the central floors, and been gripped so fiercely by anxiety and fear that she'd lose control of her powers again. Thankfully, the scientists learned quickly that her room was the best place to put her. For punishments, for rewards, for anything. It was like a cage, and she knew it - but it was _her_ cage.

She stood, feeling the rush of the drugs tingle her skin. It was like someone had stroked her skin with ice. _Poltergeist_, she thought, like an alternate identity that she couldn't always keep under control. She shook away the chill and looked around her room for comfort. On the floor, she saw her tarot interpretation book left open on the floor, the picture of the II Pentacles there, with two stars springing from the palm of a jester. She stooped down to close the book but as she did, the blood rushed from her head and everything in her visage went white, she sat on the floor instead. She stayed there for a long time, flipping through the pages absently, seeing the pictures, but not looking at the words. Finally, she closed the books and looked around her room.

Her eyes settled on the camera in the corner, on the ceiling, by the door. Her expression did not change right away, but an unsettling glare crept into her blue eyes. _You did this to me_, she wanted to say. But what good would that do? What good would any of it do? She stood up, feeling defeated and depressed, she needed the comfort of her friends. She remembered now why she had lost control, and feeling awkward about going straight to Terry sent her to Win instead.

She went to the door, but it would not open for her. This time, when she looked to the camera, she spoke, "I want to leave." She wanted to give a threat, but last time, Heidrich had warned her that threats were not forgotten so easily in High Tower. He said that if she said the wrong thing again, they'd have to take serious actions. "We do not take terrorism lightly, Poltergeist, least of all witzin our own borderz."

Half a minute after, the private speaker above Becky's bed on the ceiling, hidden among hanging scarves and wind chimes, gave a single note. The three note melody was a sign that the entire building could hear an announcement, a single note was private. Gontard's mousy and innocent voice filled the room: "Oh." So much pity and condescension in her tone as the vowel fell off into a slight groan, like someone looking at a puppy with three legs. "Mr. Heidrich wants to see you, lovely. You'd better be quick about it."

The single note binged sharply again. Becky turned to face the door, feeling bile rising slowly from the pit of her stomach, gathering and building into a rock that she feared would never leave. The door slid open and in a quick pace, head bowed and hands at her side, she turned right and sped to the end of the hall. She entered the long, narrow office and stopped by the high counter where Ms. Gontard looked down at her. "What was it this time, darling?"

Becky looked up at her, her eyes hollowed out and desperate. "Please, just open the door."

"Was it the guards? Did they insult you again?" Each time Becky had a 'relapse', which is what the scientists called it, Gontard would ask what had sent her over the edge. It was like recounting every regret one could conjure from their memory, small and large, just for the sake of the secretary's gossip. She could just picture the woman at a water cooler saying to a coworker, "Well, _I_ spoke to her, and _she_ said it was this or that." She could hear her kiss her teeth in pity - no wait, she was doing it now.

Becky had waited too long to answer, so she assumed whatever her mind could concoct, "Poor little thing." Gontard said before finally opening the door. Becky rushed through, closing the door behind her and staring at the brass handle, fearing to turn around.

"Hello, Poltergeist." Heidrich's voice said formally, coldly.

Becky lifted her shoulders and turned slowly, "Hello, Mr. Heidrich."

"Sit, sit." He gestured to a single chair across from his desk. It looked like a chair they'd use in elementary school, the plastic and metal contorted together somehow, with the hole in the back. She had found herself in that seat a dozen times over the past two years, since she had survived the final stages of her mutation. She remembered what Heidrich said that first day, "You have proven zat you can survive, now prove to me zat you can live."

It was a lot to ask for. And of the three subjects, Becky had been the only one to fall short of spectacular. She sat in the chair, and he took his seat in the illustrious brown leather office chair with arms and lean-back feature.

"We find ourselves here too often, Poltergeist." Heidrich said, using his chair's lean-back feature and folding his hands before his chin. His gray eyes stabbed through her with spite, annoyance, anger. "What, might I ask, forced you to cast all reason aside and attack my men?"

Becky shivered, "I - I was -"

"Stressed." He finished for her, "I've heard it before, und yet!" He stood again, glowering, so angry, always angry. "What was zhere to make you uneasy? Hm? Ze guards, your friends, perhaps ze simple rush of adrenaline, iz zat it?"

Becky shrunk in the inadequate seat, and nodded meekly.

"Ah. What am I to do witz you if I cannot use you witzout you losing control? So zis leaves me in a difficult position, you know zis." He paced around the desk and stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

"I'll do better." She promised in a whisper, tensing at his touch, fearing that he might end her then and there.

"You said zhis last time, too, Poltergeist. I have provided every strange zhing you asked for. Did you enjoy ze fortune cards?"

"I did, Mr. Heidrich." She said, forcing herself not to shake, and failing.

"Good, iz zhere anytzing new you wanted, Poltergeist?"

Becky had forgotten what she had written in her journal, "For now I am happy to be alive and in your service. You have been kind to me, Mr. Heidrich." Tongue to cheek. Her mind was drawing a blank, she just needed to leave this office.

"Good!" He said, pacing back around the table again, "You should spend more of your time training - not wasting it on useless hobbies. If you train, you gain control. Finally, we should see some progress witz you."

Becky nodded, and stood.

"But!" He snapped, "If I see no improvements, Poltergeist." He shook his finger at her, "Keep in mind we received fifty new subjects, und at least one will survive."

That was as much as to say that she could easily be replaced. She had heard the line before and yet, here she stood.

She bowed and bobbed her head and left the office, racing by Gontard before she could say anything.

There's always that feeling, when something has happened, where you've had a fight, or met someone new, and you're running through the conversation in your mind over and over, and by the time you realize you've been walking, you're where you need to be. There was something strangely comforting about the gym. She couldn't explain what, but she walked through the only entrance of a sliding glass door, motion censored to predict whenever Terry would come and go.

The gym was not beautiful, at least to Becky. It had weights to the right, all along the wall, and to the left, there was a track, slanted down toward its center. It reminded her of Saturn's rings and at the moment Terry was a speeding comet sprinting round and round in circles, unable to break free of the gravitational pull. She paused to watch him go, sprinting, with a furrow in his brow that let her know that something was troubling him. As he rounded the far corner and his eyes settled on her, he finished the last sprint and leapt off the track in front of her. "Becky," was all he said, and all he _could _say for a few moments.

"Hi," she said nervously, pinching her lips between her teeth to keep herself fro blurting out something stupid.

"Look," he began, stepping toward her, panting a few times, rubbing his nose and mouth with the heel of his palm, trying to compose himself, "I don't hate you."

Becky closed her eyes, sheer humiliation keeping her from looking at him, "I know. I know." She said, "I was just worried... but I'm not anymore."

He obviously didn't understand, Becky wasn't at all surprised. Where most boys would be grateful to let the matter rest on the precarious surface where it had landed, Terry dared to pursue the matter further: "I shouldn't have gotten angry with you."

Becky opened her eyes, "They shot at me." _That isn't the point_. She thought and scolded herself for bringing it up.

Terry stepped forward and held her in his arms, "I'm sorry." He said, squeezing her tight.

She could feel his heart racing, his muscles taught and powerful. She composed herself there and said, "I'm afraid that Poltergeist will take over. And Heidrich..." This was his father, after all. She had to tread carefully here, and she half-regretted bringing him up.

"You are Becky!" He assured, "And always will be, and I shouldn't let my father's pride get between us. It's just us, after all. You, me, and Win, we only have each other, I promised to myself, after those elevator doors closed, that I'd never let Heidrich come between us again."

Becky squeezed him close, this was not something he would just say. Sure, Terry was ambitious, ruthless, determined, but when it came to his father, his traits became that much more fierce. This was a promise, and by all accounts, a terrible one. Heidrich could say within the next few hours that Terry could never see Becky or Win again, and he would have no choice but to obey.

"You don't have to promise that!" She decided to say, instead pointing his words out as the lie that they were. It was a beautiful lie, but an unbelievable one.

"Everything I do is to please him." He said.

They parted, and she looked into his face, searching.

"He's your father," she said. "I could never ask you to forget him, but it would mean the world to me if you promised never to forget me either." She paused, "Or Win."

"I promise," He vowed, and held her face between his hands. He stared into her blue eyes with his dark ones, and he planted a kiss between he brows, just above the bridge of her nose. "The two of you mean the world to me. I would be lost without you -" He stopped himself, probably because he thought his own words tasted unfamiliar to him. He had a look on his face that reminded Becky of when her mother had wanted to continue enjoying something, but couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Heidrich told me that I should train more, instead of taking up the study of films in the late 50's." She said.

"I'd be more than happy to help you out in that department." He smiled.

Becky bobbed her head, thinking all the while how hopelessly Terry was wound around his dad, like she had been with her mother. She felt a knot in her stomach, one that had been there since she first met Terry and found out he was the boss's son. She was waiting for the day when one would abandon the other, and she hoped so desperately that Terry would abandon Heidrich. Just so she could see how things _might _have been different for her, if her mother hadn't...


End file.
